


few felt their brilliance cut

by staccato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Master of Death, Slow Burn, That Depends On How You Look At It, Time Travel, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:36:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7436282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato/pseuds/staccato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry travels through time, convinces his younger self that it's a brilliant idea, and rules the world with his enemy/friend/lover Tom Riddle (depending what time it is).</p><p>Not necessarily in that exact order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	few felt their brilliance cut

A sharp crack echoed through the night, and a lean body followed the sound, tumbling out of nowhere. He stumbled, arm flailing, and barely managed to find his balance. There was a deep, bleeding gash on his face, just below his sharp cheekbones. Ebony hair became stuck to the wound as the man-no, boy-frantically whipped his head side to side, quickly observing his environment. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” The boy swore under his breath as he rested his eyes on a nearby diner, and the sign which displayed the time and day. Suddenly, he began to move his hands in a rather odd way, and closed his eyes in concentration.

Another sharp crack signaled his departure. 

|

Harry Potter bolted up from his small cot, a scream on his tongue. He fumbled for his glasses and the light switch. Trying to slow down his harsh breathing, Harry hugged his legs to his chest. His scar ached, and a thin stream of blood was starting to make its way down to his eyes. He rubbed it away roughly with the back of his hand. Across the room, Hedwig crooned worryingly in her cage.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He repeated softly, for both his and Hedwig’s benefit. The owl shifted her wings, and returned slowly to sleep. Harry, however, was still shaken up by what he saw. He had again dreamed the events that occurred in the graveyard, the horrifyingly familiar sibilant hiss, which haunted his waking days, was only amplified in his dream. Cedric Diggory had stared through him with those pale, glassy eyes, and then Mr. Diggory was crying, sobs shaking his frail body. He had pointed a finger at Harry, blaming Harry of murdering his boy in order to win the Triwizard Tournament. Then Harry's parents had joined in, green and hazel glaring furiously, accusing him of robbing their life.

"We were young!" They had screamed, alto and bass. "We could have fought against Voldemort. We could have won! But we died to save you. You! A liar, a cheater, a freak-" their voices became distorted as Rita Skeeter chimed in, echoed by Harry's classmates, and even Cornelius Fudge.

A noise jolted him from his reverie, and Harry was instantly on alert. He quietly slipped out of his cot, and made his way across the room, gracefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards. He peered out the window, and saw an inky black head making his way up the driveway of 4 Privet Drive. His heart jumped to his throat as he heard the doorbell ring.

A few minutes later, Harry heard Uncle Vernon lumber down the hallway and stairs, the obese man grumbling all the while. There was the sound of a door unlocking, an angry “Whaddaya want?”, and then a scream, cut off abruptly, followed a thump as a large body hit the floor. Harry tightened his grip on Hedwig’s cage.

Aunt Petunia rushed out of the master bedroom and down the stairs. Her shriek of terror continued longer, before she also was silenced, her body crumbling beside her husband’s, Harry imagined. 

He elbowed the window, and the glass broke in a spray of shard. Harry unlocked the door on Hedwig’s cage. The owl fluttered her wings and jumped on the window sill, glancing back at Harry.

“Go on, girl.” He stroked her feather. “I’ll find you if I survive, yeah?”

Hedwig chirped in agreement, and swooped into the starry night.

Harry glanced down to the lawn, and wonder whether he would survive jumping down two stories.

Probably not. Oh, how he wished he had already obtained his Apparition License!

Outside of his bedroom, Harry could hear Dudley shuffling into the entryway. There was a pause, probably his small brain trying to wrap around the idea of his parents dying, that they were now gone forever, before Dudley, too, began to howl.

Then he too was killed.

Harry grabbed the largest shard, and wrapped his hands tightly around the glass. The rough edges broke the skin, blood flowing from between his fingers and onto the wooden floor.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Harry could now see lights flickering on in the neighborhood houses, woken by the shrill yells. Some had even emerged to stand on the porch in their pajamas, but none of them ran over and tried to stop the murders. Indeed, they all seem content to stand in the sideline, though some had their mobile phones resting beside their ears. No doubt they were reporting the crime, and pointing Harry as the perpetrator. 

Harry wonders how they will feel when the law enforcement discover his dead body.

Inside the house, footsteps sounded as the real culprit walked up the stairs. Harry wished desperately for his wand, for his invisibility cloak, anything to survive the night. Alas, Uncle Vernon had confiscated Harry’s trunk as soon as he returned from his fourth year at Hogwarts, and locked it securely up the attic. 

As the murderer headed towards Harry’s room, Harry pressed himself closer into the corner of his wall, praying that he could sink into the white plaster. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a cream-colored parchment. It was the latest correspondence from his best friend, Ron Weasley, thought the ginger had been strangely reluctant to share about his summer. Hermonine Granger, their mutual friend, had even yet to write, when normally by this time she would be chiding Harry to start his summer homework.

Will the Wizarding World even be aware of his passing?

There was whispered “Alohomora”, and the locks, placed by Uncle Vernon, on Harry’s doors unlocked one by one. Harry’s heartbeat sped up, jumping furiously as if trying to escape his chest, at the knowledge that his attacker was magical. Perhaps he was even a Death Eater, here on the request of his master, or maybe the Dark Lord had come himself, to finish the job he botched fifteen years ago.

The rusted doorknob turned, and the figure stepped into the room. The hood of his robe was down, and Harry’s breath caught as he came face to face with-

-himself?

**Author's Note:**

> Title Cred: When Night is Over, by Damian Firth


End file.
